Awakening

by Hayden Pearton

  *

  Pain. I am consumed by agony. Every inch of my body cries out in torment. The sound of gunfire fills my world. I open my eyes to a scene of carnage and violence. The rifle in my trembling hands feels far heavier than it should. I can feel the weight of its duty, its purpose, dragging me to the blood-soaked earth.

  Richard Lorne, one of my closest friends, lies on the ground beside me. His eyes no longer seeing the same world as the rest of us unfortunate bastards. A pot-shot from a retreating soldier caught poor Richard in the neck. There was nothing we could do for him, except listen to him die…

  There’s blood on my vest, but I know that it is not mine. Planes roar overhead, dropping death on both sides. I don’t even know which ones are ours, nor do I care. The people -the meagre remainder of my unit- who stand around me are scared to death, every man and woman trying to block out the sounds of war to varying degrees of success. I check my clip, counting the number of bullets remaining on one hand. My legs have long since gone numb, sitting in this ruined city centre with nothing to do but die for your country, or make some poor bastard die for his.

  I raise my weapon, peering through the scope, searching for lives to destroy. A sudden movement to my left, a man running with his child, trying to flee from the burning city I now call home. I open my mouth to call out to him, to tell him to stop, but I’m too late. Private Osric, one of the younger lads, panics and opens fire. My scream is drowned out by the gunfire, and by the time it has ended, two new corpses lie in the road. I wish I could say that that was the first time I had witnessed such a scene. I wish I could pretend that it had been an unfortunate accident, that such a senseless act has not happened before, and will not happen again… But wars and fairy tales just don’t mix.

  Private Osric has started mumbling to himself. They always do, once they regain their senses. I doubt he will last the night. Either he’ll put a bullet in his own head or he’ll wander off to find an enemy soldier who will do it for him. I wish I could stop him, but the look on that boy, as he watched his father fall before him, stays my hand. There is no justice in this world, but vengeance is very real…

  An hour later, Private Osric, Private Meare and I are sent to patrol the surrounding area. Osric has finally stopped speaking to himself, now he just stares at the sky with a dead look on his face. His heart may still be pumping, and his legs may still be moving, but he’s as dead as the boy he killed. The city -didn’t even bother remembering its name- has been reduced to a mere shell of concrete and steel. Before the war, it was an unimportant dot on an unimportant map, but now, just because it happens to be located in the middle of an unpolluted region, it’s become the centre of the world.

  I look around at the desolation, wondering why I’m even here. A promise to a friend? A sense of duty? A chance to make a difference? Does my reason even matter anymore? In the end, we were all sent here in the name of death. We are the evangelists of destruction, killing in the name of ‘the greater good’. “Fight for the sake of your country!” they told us, as we boarded the transports, not knowing if we would ever return.

  Don’t make me laugh. If you ask a mother to give up her son, a wife to give up her husband, or a daughter to give up her father, at least have the decency of telling them the real reason why they have to lose their loved ones. Tell them that it is because greedy men, in the safety of their bunkers, desired what did not belong to them, and sent us to get it for them or die trying.

  But that is the way the world works: those with power command those without. So when the governments of the world panicked and began their race to obtain all of the unpolluted land, it was the people who ultimately suffered. People like me, all over the world, pressed into service under the pretence of ‘civic duty’. We were sent to foreign lands, to kill foreign people, for foreign resources that did not belong to us. For those who attempted to resist? Government sympathisers would cry things like “coward” and “traitor”.

  For me, it was a mother's tearful plea to watch over her son, to keep him safe. That was what brought me here, to this endless nightmare. Not even four months into my service, and I have already broken my promise. Richard’s cooling body is proof of that.

  A sudden bang breaks me out of my reverie. We’ve been spotted by an enemy patrol, no doubt comprised of kids no different than us. There are five of them -four men and a woman- but your gender matters little to the bullet or the blade. We take cover inside a bombed out building, but I can already tell that this won’t end well. Private Meare is panicking, his hands shaking as he tries to raise his rifle. Private Osric looks like a man who has finally found what he has been looking for. At the very least, he will not have to waste one of our bullets on himself, when the enemy has so graciously volunteered their own. I steady my weapon, my own hands strangely steady. Is this what it means to accept death? Have I already given up?

  No. Not yet. I still have to tell a woman that her son will never come home.

  “Fire!” I hear someone scream. A moment later, I realise that the word came from my own treacherous lips. Private Meare nods furiously and obeys, rising from his position and miraculously bringing his weapon about. He drops three soldiers before a well-placed shot takes him out of the equation.

  Private Osric, having finally snapped out of his daze, stands up and starts walking, leaving his gun behind. I follow behind him, shadowing his steps. The two remaining soldiers pause for a moment, confused by his actions, before they regain their senses and grant him his redemption. As he falls, I make my move, managing to fell one of the soldiers. Without stopping, I rush forward, bringing up my weapon and hammering the trigger.

  Silence. Not the roar of gunfire. Not the screams of death. Just the silence made by a gun running out of bullets. The man looks at me in astonishment, as surprised as I am. But his surprise will not last, and I cannot afford to die here, like this. I quickly close the distance, knocking the loosely held rifle from his hands. He shoves me backwards, fear giving him monstrous strength. I land on my back, dazed, as he moves towards me, knife in hand.

  Sheer panic floods my mind, dulling my senses. My hands feel heavy as they search through my pockets, feebly feeling for the knife given to me by my father, all those years ago. The man, no, the boy, leaps forward as my trembling fingers finally grasp the smooth ebony-wood handle. I manage to draw the small blade just as he reaches me, his own knife swinging down in a deadly arc.

  Silence…

  “Huh?” I think to myself, lying beneath him. I can feel his weight bearing down on me, crushing me, and I wait for him to finish me. But he does not. After several agonizing seconds, I realize why he is not moving…

  Squirming out from underneath him, I manage to turn him over. There, embedded deeply in his chest, is my knife. I can do nothing but sit there as a flood of emotions washes over me. Happiness. Disgust. Regret. Fear. Anger. Self-loathing. Relief.

  Something around his neck catches my eye, and I cautiously reach over and remove the glinting item. It’s a silver locket. I slowly pry open its rusted hinges and stare in shock. A picture of an old woman stares back at me, silently judging me.

  It hits me then. I just killed someone’s son. Richard, and this nameless boy, two children who will never go home to their mothers, who will never see another sunrise, because of me… because of what I have done…

  I can already feel the bitter tears begin to roll down my grimy face, and I can only sit there, crying to myself as the world falls apart…